


(Not) Meant To Be

by DictionaryWrites



Series: Iron Bull/Dorian Pavus Stories [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Banter, Complicated Relationships, Falling In Love, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Self-Esteem Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-10-05
Packaged: 2020-11-24 08:29:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20904662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DictionaryWrites/pseuds/DictionaryWrites
Summary: It's all so... complicated.





	(Not) Meant To Be

“And what are these? Reagents?” Varric asked, and Dorian nodded his head, leaning over the list.

“For the most part, barring… This is a catalyst,” he said, tapping one item on the list. “And this is an alternative to stripweed.”

“Like… Like the tea?” Varric asked. “Why can’t you just use stripweed? We’ve got tons of the stuff.”

“He’s allergic,” said the Iron Bull from the doorway, where he was doing his best to look casual despite having to bend his knees to fit against the door jamb, and Dorian stared at him, surprised. Varric glanced between the two of them, chuckled, and made a note of it.

“Sure, Sparkler, can do.”

“Thank you, Varric,” Dorian murmured. “Whatever I can do in return—”

“Consider it a favour. None of this stuff is hard to pick, right?”

“No, not at all,” Dorian murmured, and he stepped away. Bull was waiting for him in the doorway to Varric’s room, and Dorian stepped out toward him, closing the door behind them.

He hadn’t actually spoken to Bull since two days previous, when he’d woken up in his bed. It had been… _pleasant_, that morning. Bull had kissed him for what felt like hours, and they’d frotted like _schoolboys_, it had been so messy, but so tremendously, wonderfully good…

“You mind if we talk?” the Bull asked, his voice quiet.

“Not at all,” Dorian said, not able to look the other man in the eye – but then, he hardly needed additional excuses for that, what with how tall the bastard was. He moved down the walkway a bit, grasping at his door handle, still unlocked as it was, and Bull caught his wrist.

“We can talk out here, if you want,” Bull said. “Nice day.”

“You don’t want to sit down?”

“You don’t like having men in your bedroom,” Bull said, simply.

“And I’m allergic to stripweed,” Dorian murmured, trying to keep his face neutral. He didn’t want to let himself forget that the Iron Bull was a Qunari spy, that he was a Ben-Hassrath. He didn’t want to let himself forget that the Iron Bull was over a foot taller than him, could snap him like a twig if he so chose, that he probably had an assassination method planned for every single person in Skyhold. He couldn’t let himself forget the way that his mouth had tasted, when he’d kissed Dorian, cradled the back of his head and laid him back on the bed like he was made of something fine and delicate. “What should it matter to you, who I allow or don’t allow in my bedroom?”

The Iron Bull shrugged his shoulders, looking out over the battlements, at the blue, blue skies. Tomorrow morning, the Inquisitor would set out with Varric, Cassandra, and Vivienne, moving west. Dorian almost wished he was going with them, if only to avoid the Iron Bull, but he knew that was cowardly of him.

He was a coward, after all. Always running…

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” the Iron Bull said simply. “Figure I did already, though.”

“No,” Dorian said.

“That why you’re looking at my nips instead of my face?”

“Kaffas, Bull, don’t… Don’t call them that,” Dorian said, risking a look up at the Bull’s face. The Bull was looking down at him, smiling slightly, his head tilted to the side. Dorian felt the guilt surge within him as water in a geyser, threatening to blow.

“Listen,” Bull said, “I had a good time with you the other morning. Not saying we gotta go all the time. Not saying we have to go ever again, if you didn’t like it. Just laying my cards on the table: I like you. You’re fun, you’re pretty, you’re good in bed, and you’re _good_. You want to have sex again, cool, we can have sex. You don’t? That’s cool too.”

“You wouldn’t have sex with me,” Dorian said quietly, forcing himself to keep Bull’s gaze, “because you thought I was too drunk. Do you think I have a drinking problem?”

Bull shrugged. “Maybe," he said. "Me too.”

“You too?” Dorian repeated, arching his eyebrows. He sounded defensive, indignant, his voice sharp, and he hated it, hated how he sounded. “What, does the good ambassador keep track of how many _bottles_ you drink per week?” It was like being at home with his mother all over again, Dorian, how _many_, Dorian, _which_, Dorian, Dorian—

“Don’t know,” Bull said. “Never asked.”

“My _darling_ man,” Dorian said, “I have no interest in whatever romantic cobweb you’re spinning away in your head. I want _sex_. Is that clear?”

“Sure,” Bull said.

“We are not star-crossed fools in a romantic play. This is not some tale of two young lovers from Par Vollen and Tevinter.”

“Okay,” Bull said.

Dorian’s hand went to the door handle of his bedroom. _But you’re just proving him right, if you let him in, aren’t you? You don’t let men in your bedroom – he’s right. Your bedroom is for **you**. You let him in, that means you’re letting him in, doesn’t it?_

It wasn’t a very nice voice. It reminded Dorian of Gereon: gentle, encouraging, in its tone, and yet so focused on the hard questions.

“Do take me, then,” Dorian said.

“Can do,” Bull said, grinning, and kicked the door shut behind him. “Nice room.”

“No talking!” Dorian said, and Bull’s hand clasped tightly over Dorian’s mouth, making him whimper.

“Got it,” Bull said in a stage-whisper, shooting him a one-eyed wink that _really_ shouldn’t have worked, and shoved him toward the bed.

\--

“So, Dorian,” the Bull said, some weeks later, in full earshot of the entire Crestwood encampment, “about last night.”

He had, at the very least, chosen to hold back for a little while, which was impressive enough in itself, given that he ordinarily couldn’t _stop_ himself going on and on about tavern girls and serving wenches and stable boys. Dorian could, at least, give him that. Still, though, a hot flush burned on the back of his neck, uncertain. They hadn’t agreed not to talk about it. He’d assumed the Bull would begin to brag immediately, had never bothered to mention it.

In Tevinter…

But then, this wasn’t Tevinter.

“Discretion isn’t your thing, is it?” Dorian asked.

“Three times!” Bull growled, delightedly.

Dorian glanced at him. Three? They’d shared a bath together – ridiculously awkward, finding a steel tin big enough for Bull’s gigantic bulk – and merely drawn it out. Three…?

“Also, do you want your silky underthings back, or did you leave those like a token? Or… _wait!_ Did you “forget” them so you’d have an excuse to come back? You sly dog!”

Bull was looking right at him, a grin on his face, and Dorian shifted in his seat, doing his best not to smile. This was… _ridiculous_. Some utter nonsense that the Bull was blurting out, to what, ensure Dorian wasn’t so embarrassed? If anything, he should be _more_ embarrassed, if Bull was going to make up whatever he pleased…

“If you choose to leave your door unlocked like a savage,” Dorian said archly, “I may or may not come.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bull purred, and Dorian swore to keep himself from laughing.

\--

“What is it, then?” Dorian asked that night in their tent, even as he perched crosslegged on Bull’s thighs, a book open on the surprisingly perfect lectern of his chest. “If you make up nonsense about our interludes, I shall be more comfortable with people knowing about our relationship at all? My poor, thin Tevinter skin might be spared the buffeting of people knowing I am perhaps— Perhaps sexually _engaged_?”

It wasn’t meant to be like this. It wasn’t mean to be so _easy_, or so _nice_, or—

Or any of it.

“I thought it was funny,” Bull said, playing over Dorian’s hip. “Thought you’d like a chance to complain about me.”

“Very thoughtful, I’m sure,” Dorian murmured. “You fool.” He set the book aside, and replaced it with his palms, spreading them over Bull’s chest. “These _silky underthings_ you were imagining…”

“Yeah?”

“Perhaps…”

Bull surged to kiss him, flipping them over, and Dorian laughed, breathlessly, disbelievingly, as Bull started kissing his ear, his cheek, his neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to hit up [my ask on Tumblr,](http://patricianandclerk.tumblr.com/ask) to talk about DA in general, and definitely to recommend blogs to follow! I am open for requests (for Origins, II, and Inq). I also run a no-drama Dragon Age Discord, which [you can join here.](https://discordapp.com/invite/ttgP5v8) Please comment if you can!


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